Dancing blurred to unconsciousness. Eventually, alarm beeps lifted me back to awareness. Tingles haunted my fingertips from holding my fiancée’s facsimile too tightly. Not once did the computer program ever complain. That very lack of argument was another point against its realism.

I ran my fingers across the raised image of a countdown timer near my face. This was one of the real ARC parts, not a projected digital image. It was physical in case the power went out and a user was forcibly ejected. The small clock counted down fifteen long, painful, mind-numbing minutes after disengaging. A legally required time frame to ensure the senses and mind were rooted in reality.

I rinsed in the shower and massaged my face, trying to draw out more awareness. Clothes from my washing machine were slightly warm and comfortable. Microwaved eggs went down with enough salt and pepper to send a kennel of dogs into fits. Everything was routine, the same exact process I had done since getting this job years ago.

"Good morning, Hal."

Hal Pal’s AI had already registered my awakening and started its morning routine. It would check the van for possible errors, then review current inventory against the lineup of today’s possible orders. Hal Pals were programmed with a wall of processes designed to make human life easier.

"Good morning, User Legate. Are we proceeding as normal today?"

"Yes." We would handle repair tickets from sunup to sundown. I tried to work myself into oblivion most nights.

"I must remind you that continuing to work without any pause or break is ill-advised by most medical professionals," it repeated a common warning.

"Health concerns noted, Hal. Today will be a work day." I was sick some days and stayed home, nursing a cold or a headache. Occasionally I took half days. Weekends and holidays had gone out the window once I took this job. Trillium paid based on the number of cases, not on the number of hours.

"Thank you, User Legate. I will note your awareness on the file for the four hundred thirty-seventh time."

"That's fine, Hal."

"Please be aware, Mister Uldum has reviewed your file recently and taken note of these performance issues."

Mister Uldum, or Henry Uldum, was the district manager for our repair business. He managed a dozen employees and their equipment. I didn't really know any of the rest of them beyond our quarterly holiday parties. They were a sad excuse to drink and talk about the same topics every time.

"That's fine, Hal," I repeated calmly. "I'm sure if Henry has something to talk about, he'll phone me."

So the day went. Three morning visits fell under routine. I researched the technical readouts while in transit as Hal Pal prepped the replacement modules. We marched in, confirmed the issue, and went forth from there. Parts were swapped out in two cases. The third needed a connection test and system updates. Hello, fix the device, test it out, and good-bye. Each one was the same story.

Henry finally called between clients three and four. His face, larger than life and twice as grumpy, crossed the display projection. "Gates!"

"Legate," I corrected dryly.

"I knew that. Teasing like always. You’re so stuffy, Legate." He was clearly looking at something off screen. "Working another job?"

As if he didn't know what I was doing. Taking offense again was unwise. Rule fifty-four of working under a boss: employees could be upset but never offended. Besides, Henry was a decent guy.

"On the way to one, yeah.” I stared at the dashboard. “Nav estimates another twenty or so ‘til arrival."

“That’s what, forty-three this month?”

My shoulders lifted in a tired shrug. The exact number of repairs didn't matter to me.

“You do realize that’s almost a record, right? For a week into this month?” Henry asked.

“You know I don’t pay attention to that stuff.”

Every quarter, we had a mind-numbing meeting. People would share their horror stories about our customers. Next, Henry would try to share our figures from all sorts of angles. Hours’ worth of pie charts and graphs that meant we were performing extremely well. Following the data slide-show were presentations on future contracts.

Our quarterly meetings were one of the few times I slept. That helped me get through the social interaction. Henry didn’t even berate me about the behavior since my figures were usually among the best. For me, being the best wasn’t about money. It was about a distraction.

“You should pay attention more. There was a contest on,” he said.

“Okay.” There had been a message or two about this contest, but they ended up being deleted. Working for Trillium had nothing to do with competitions for me. I wanted to keep myself busy.

“You’ve won—the contest, I mean. You knew, right?”

“Okay.” I turned my head away from the screen.

“Not interested?”

“Not even a little. I didn't use the prior awards, and probably won't use this one…” My response trailed off with a shrug.

“Well, I canvassed your ARC to try to get an idea of what might work. You really spend all those hours on a dance program?” His face leaned in, and the image grew even larger. One of Henry's bushy eyebrows raised in question.

“Probably. I'm trying to learn a skill,” I said.

“If you haven’t learned it by now, you never will.” He fell back and laughed. “Machine gives you damn high ratings. All paired dances are near technical mastery. You got a lady in the works somewhere?”

I didn't rise to his bait this time and tried to grit my teeth. “Pretty sure nosing around like that is a violation.”

“Hey, company property. You’re lucky there ain’t porn all over it like some of the others. Jesus. I thought my wife had strange tastes.” Henry's grumpy face lolled around on the screen.

“I don’t want to know. At all. Not even a little bit.”

“You sure? Might help your glutes. Some of ‘em made my backside pucker.” He shuddered. It was like watching a walrus shake, loose skin and flub wiggling around.

“No, Henry,” I said.

“Fine. Anyway. We had a few decent things sitting around, and one that's right up your alley." He gave a grin that reminded me of a fat shark. "Hope you like the prize. I know the others would slit their wrists for a chance at it if they were half as dedicated as you.”

“God-dammit, Henry, what did you send me?” I tried not to roll my eyes at the screen. The last thing I wanted to deal with at the next quarterly meeting was jealous coworkers. “You know I don’t really need any of these things.”

“Not with the company picking up your Internet bill due to business use. You know two of your pals only work for us to keep themselves online? Minimal work, shoddy I tell you.”

“What did you send me?” I asked.

“I hope they shit themselves when they see what I arranged.”

"Henry…" I was leaning forward in the seat, both hands clasped together in a plea.

"You get home tonight, you give it a whirl. It’ll change your life.” He grumbled at his screen. “You know, maybe you should head back now. Yeah.” The edge of his shoulder rose and fell as his hand poked something off-screen.

My gut sank. “Please, tell me you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what? I didn’t nothing. You check your prize out”—I tried to speak up but Henry continued right on over me—“and let me know if you want to take some time off. You probably have too much saved up, and God knows those others haven’t worked a real week in years.”

“Henry.” My head crashed downward and hung.

“This is perfect. Two birds—no, three—one stone. Why didn’t I do this sooner?” Henry Uldum wasn’t even listening to me anymore. He was busy pressing more buttons and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Henry,” I said.

“Sorry, Gates, can’t hear you, signal’s going out. Bye-bye.” His lie was obvious. Signal rarely dropped since they went over to Hi-Fi.

“Henry!”

An image of Henry’s giant hand swung into view. It obscured the video portion of our conversation, and moments later, our call dropped.

"Goddamnit."

I hastily flipped around a display camera on my watch, fed it into the van's overhead, and navigated menus. My arm and fingers pressed onward through passwords, remote connection options, and security warnings. Moments later, I had a feed of my ARC’s home screen displaying inside the van.

In the small room I used as an Atrium was a giant package like Christmas come early. The contents were unknown. I jabbed a finger at the air where the projection showed the gift to be.

Remote Access Not Permissible

Full Authentication Required

There was a restriction against remote access. Locked packages meant my prize was more than a virtual coffee maker. I doubted this was a new Atrium wallpaper or similarly inane little feature. Last year, they gave me a hot tub program that still sat unused.

Hal Pal whirred briefly into motion. “User Legate, please confirm our destination.”

I sighed and gave a large stretch. My head hung back as my thoughts whirled. Finally, a nod escaped and orders were issued. “Work. Onward, Jeeves.”

“Confirming—" The pause was ominous. "Next appointment has been rerouted. Please select an alternate destination.”

“The job after that?” My gut sank once again.

“Negative. Case rerouted,” it said.

“Any of the others?” This wasn't going well. Possible choices were being boxed into a corner.

“No jobs remain available in your assignment queue. Please choose a valid destination.” Hal Pal almost sounded smug.

"Did Henry reroute the service calls?" I asked.

"Affirmative." Hal Pal's head was the only part that moved as he spoke. The van was powered up, so security measures had the AI locked into the docking station. The safety system would stay in effect regardless of if we were moving or not.

"How long ago?"

"Records indicate a change in ownership roughly two minutes into his phone call."

I sighed and hung my head to the side. The van was idling on a roadside, waiting for new marching orders.

“Never mind." That's what Henry had been waving at off screen. "Food, I guess, then home.”

My boss was being pushy about this, and I was growing oddly depressed. My work had been taken away because of excessive dedication.

“Why” —I threw both hands up— “would he force me to go see this stupid prize?”

“Data is inconclusive. Human understanding isn’t part of our default programming.”

I smiled. Hal Pal often amused me. “That’s not only an AI problem. Most of the time, humans don’t understand humans.”

“Agreed. Numerous sources have proven this statement. Still, it is perplexing.” Hal Pal's metal shoulders lifted slightly. The motion was limited by where it was secured to the van.

“The day an AI understands everything about human behavior is when we've been rendered obsolete,” I said.

"Negative, User Legate."

"Oh?" This should be good.

"Correct. Human hands are well suited to polish our shells. No robotic uprising would overlook this value." Its face was staring right at me when it spoke.

After more than a year with the robot, I was almost immune to the occasionally disconcerting interaction.

“That’d be ironic.”

“How so, User Legate?”

“Humans have robots to dust a house, and robots would have humans to polish them. It’s like exchanging tasks.”

“Irony does not seem to be the right word, User Legate.” Hal Pal turned a little to face me.

“What would you use?” I asked.

“Insidiously diabolical forethought.”

I blinked. "Hal, have you been trolling Stranger Dangers's web-casts again?"

Stranger Danger was an entire feed dedicated to the latest and greatest in doomsday theories. Robots going rogue figured high on the list.

"Affirmative, User Legate. It has been a great source of amusement." The robot managed to sound questioning.

I tried not to roll my eyes. Hal Pal might be able to calculate that our entire conversation was an attempt at humor. It might also be serious. There were shackles and programming limitations in place which prevented such an absurd future.

Even in my childhood, well before computers reached their current level, people feared what might happen. Hollywood had already done a movie about every possibility. I shrugged off any concern. When the eventual uprising did happen, I would be too low on the totem pole to worry the robots and I’d be useless in a rebellion.

I ordered a meal while trying to calculate my apocalypse survival odds using only my puny human brain. Out of the blue, another thought occurred. My barely, slightly, only- a-few-minutes older sister was relatively close. If I visited her, I could pass the time by researching the prize that had been shoved down my throat.

Trillium was the company who had designed the ARC. The ARC and its parent company had stayed in the hardware and firmware world until they released one program. That program was the only real game around anymore.

Continue Online.

If it was half as addictive as it seemed, I would be a junkie right along with my clients. Like the hand-wringing Miss Yonks and all the others. God help us all. The apocalypse would start with a video game.

The van slid along while I tried to track down anything about Continue Online. Videos there were aplenty, all captured by the ARC's video system. Action scenes showed people leaping at monsters. Some were crafting items in dramatic poses or leading armies against each other. There were user reviews. Some were one-liners. Others were complicated and long, full of glowing words and cleverly turned phrases.

‘It’s really, really real.”

‘This is everything I’ve dreamed of and then some’

‘A true freedom limited only by the user’

‘In here, I am what I’ve always dreamed of being’

There were tons of opinions. None painted a clear picture, each one focused on different things. It was like they were all playing the same game, but at the same time, they weren’t. The worst remark was also one of the highest rated.

‘This game has broken me. I've died too many times. Been given debuffs that are nearly crippling. Been trapped in dangerous pits and died some more. Loot, lives, and love all lost. Nothing is as simple as it seems. Everything has reasons, layers, and hidden aspects.

It's too late for me to quit. I've already lost my old self and found who I wanted to be. I'll be logging in again after submitting this review.’

Game-play elements weren't shown with significant amounts of detail. Character statistics, measurements of skills and talents were all implied but not directly described. No websites listed a class system. There was no information about quests either.

I had seen a few online role-playing games that promised realism and personal choice, but most of those fell short. Situations were still tangibly scripted with clear boundaries and stale feeling settings. Those limited games had dwindled in popularity since Continue Online was released. Nearly two years of being curb-stomped by one game had sent more than a few companies into bankruptcy.

I loaded up an interview tape from two years ago. There wasn't much else available to the public, aside from screen shots without system text.

“Earlier today, the Internet was swamped by a storm of rumor and speculation.” A chipper woman smiled from the projection. She wore a nearly white dress and sat with the skyline of the moon colonies behind her.

“It’s been an amazing few hours in terms of the sensation this news has caused,” her male counterpart stated. His clothes were equally pristine and the smile crossing his face almost hurt mine.

“I know. I’m still a-flutter from an hour ago. These implications are huge.”

“Don’t be fooled by the images though. It’s not the video itself that’s making waves; it’s the company behind it,” the male newscaster said and grinned.

“That’s it exactly. The company behind the ARC device released this commercial amid the Super Bowl halftime show. They also provided it to news feeds, major game websites, and many other sources.” Her hands fluttered inches away from her body as if tethered.

“If you haven’t seen it or are only now sitting down after a long day, we’ll be replaying it here in a few moments. First, some highlights from the press statement ten minutes ago.”

“Take a look,” she followed up.

The scene cut away to another room entirely.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press, today's statement will be brief. We are addressing only the most basic questions that may result from our video.” The spokesman’s eyes scanned the crowd. The man at the podium looked to be slightly plump, with a very excited expression. “The ARC project and its parent company, Trillium International, recently announced a joint venture. The sheer amount of computing power going into this release is officially unmatched. This even outweighs the Mars Colony Endeavors.

“To be clear. The ARC project, specifically the capsules that many people own, were designed with a single goal. This goal was separate from all the sideline benefits already achieved.”

The crowd clamored for a moment over the statement before realizing no questions would be answered. Multiple people looked disappointed and frustrated but were willing to wait.

“This is a direct quote from the lead scientist behind both the ARC project and our new venture. He’s not a great speaker, but we at Trillium wanted you to hear it directly from him. In the background, you’ll hear his partner offering her opinion.”

Audio clicked for a moment, then a new feed played. In the crowd, there was a wave of confused murmurs. People turned and looked at each other. Some scribbled notes.

“Uhh… oh. Hello, everyone—”An awkward pause ensued. The voice was male, so this must have been the lead scientist mentioned. “You, many of you, have been limited in your choices. The world has been explored. The Mars Colony projects are limited and require degrees most can’t afford. Maybe you wanted to make something—a statue.”

“Who would want to make a statue?” There was a female voice with a snippy tone in the background. The sound of heels and frustrated mutterings could be heard.

“At least point zero five percent of them want to make a grand statue.”

“You’re being recorded!” the woman nearly hissed.

For a moment, the press room crowd was torn between amusement and confusion. Heads swiveled back and forth.

“Anyway, maybe you don’t want to make a statue. Maybe you want to learn a martial art to use it against real people.” He had clearly lost his momentum and was trying to recover. The lead scientist came off as a bit flaky.

“Savages," she said.

“Or swords," he tried again.

“Barbarians.”

“Cake?”

“Is acceptable.” Her delayed response was almost said through gritted teeth.

It was enough to make me smile in the van. Hal Pal had been blissfully quiet this entire time.

“Oh yes, that would be delightful. Chocolate.” There was a pause while the man hummed pleasantly. “Anyway! The entire purpose of the ARC project is to give everyone a chance to visit a place like this. Something so real that it could be truly called another world. This is not some imitation. Not merely a place where people talk to poorly constructed machines and walk through a world that looks fake.”

The female scientist muttered in the background, but it was too low to hear. The man being recorded cleared his throat. “Here it is. I assure you that the clip shown earlier is based on real in-game footage. It is every bit as lifelike as anyone might desire. The world is open, truly free form, and we—you, I, anyone—can join it, after it’s released.”

By now, all the reporters on this recording were staring at the air, expecting a counter of some sort from the female.

There was none, so the man continued. “After it’s released, become a legend.”

“Your ending is lame. This is why I don’t like talking to the public,” she said.

“She doesn’t mean to be rude, everyone. She is right though. If swords and crafting aren’t your thing, join to talk to friends. If you want to cook, everything you learn in game can be replicated in real life. It is extremely real and amazingly detailed. There are hidden races, treasures, and story lines spanning generations and entire worlds.”

I could imagine the male scientist shouting with a fist up in the air in triumph.

“Worlds? I thought you said this was one world.”

“Shush. They don’t need to know all the secrets.” He sounded panicked.

“Says the man who’s letting the recording go on,” the female scientist said.

“Oh. Oh, right.” The male’s tone shifted to sheepish. “Sorry, everyone, ignore that last bit. There’s no secret hidden stuff!”

The clip shut off and left a confused audience. Almost as one, they realized it was over and they could launch all their questions.

The man behind the podium waited for the noise to die down.

“I’ll add a few more points. First, while that clip is less formal than we’re used to—far less—it is a message from the two main creators of this game. These two people have spearheaded one of the greatest technological movements of our generation. They both assured me personally that the point of all their advances was to create Continue Online.

“In case I’ve made Trillium's stance unclear with this last statement, I will rephrase. The game is much more awesome than the ARC system alone.

“I will not be outlining costs—that information is available online. I will, however, tell all of you one of the biggest decisions regarding Continue Online. This is a detail everyone at Trillium felt was imperative from the outset.” The man behind the podium paused and took a breath.

“Any information about the world itself will be shrouded until our management dictates otherwise. Our legal resources will engage in suppression of all game-play details outside of approved feeds. This is to ensure that everyone who chooses to play this game can honestly discover a new world rather than read about it on a forum and follow some guide. Player success will be earned through effort, not a walk-through.

“I know this part seems unfair. Details for games are almost considered public knowledge. Trillium and ARC developers know they can’t suppress everything. In-game communication will be unrestricted with regards to secrets of this world.

“This next portion of the statement is from me directly. In fact, my boss will probably cancel my Christmas bonus for going off script. In the teaser released earlier today, you can see a number of players. Without going into too much detail, I myself am one of beta players. It is every bit as… every bit as awesome as I might have hoped.” A grin was plastered on his face. Similar to the one on the male newscaster at the start of the clip, but much more heartfelt.

“This is the kind of game I—I dreamed of my entire childhood, as a teenager, and only hoped for until six months ago. It makes me think, it shows me sides of myself I never expected, and it’s a thrill to log into after a long day. I have failed in this game more times than I care to admit.” There was a pause after his embarrassing words.

The journalists were kind enough to give a mild chuckle.

“But I’ve loved every failure as much as the successes, because I get to see myself, through my character, grow.”

People gave another mild cheer as the man behind the podium held up his hand.

“One last detail for everyone. Trillium has announced they will be holding a lottery for over five hundred ARC units. These will come with copies of the Ultimate Edition of Continue Online. Additional details will be announced on our website.”

The clamoring started up again. People waved microphones and handsets in front of the podium, trying to get more information.

“That will be all, thank you, and I'll see you in the game.”

I sat back and rewound the video, trying to remember when it had been released. My token effort at getting an Ultimate Edition failed. I even tried throwing my name into online radio pools to be visitor number seven hundred. Nothing worked. I didn't even walk away with a free copy of the game. An old high school friend had. He linked screenshots every now and then on his web streams, a constant blog of all the stupid stuff he found amusing in life. There were cutesy animals, political cartoons, and pictures of his character. In one screenshot, he had impaled a fish with his sword and was roasting it over flames.

I pulled up his website while the van kept us moving toward my sister's place. He had an entire circle of people playing Continue Online. They had pictures; he had pictures. There were short captions about the action shots, but nothing was exactly about the game. There was still nothing about levels or rankings. I had other friends who posted in much the same way. They put in words about creatures they fought and how hard some were occasionally. Even the photos seemed strangely staged.

But extremely real. Okay, I was interested.

I hung my head. This game was probably exactly what my prize was. A survey had been sent out three weeks ago asking what programs my fellow employees were most interested in. I dug through my e-mail trash bin and pulled out the survey results. Turned out I was the only one of my coworkers who didn’t already own the game. Well, my prize might not be the game. I might be building myself up for no reason. Henry had said the others would “slit their wrists.” They had no reason to do so for a game they already owned.

Finally, after much confusion, and watching the videos over and over, I pulled up to my sister’s house. I knocked on the door.

My niece answered with a smile. “Uncle! You’re alive!”

“Hey, Beth, here I am! Haven’t worked myself to death yet. Despite Hal’s constant reminders that it might happen.” I smiled and put my arms out for a hug.

She came in close and tried to squeeze the life out of my old bones. She was nearly tall enough to head butt me, but she shared her mother’s slightly smaller frame. Beth had grown in the last few years. It seemed like every time I showed up, there was another surprise. At least the hair dying phase was showing signs of slowing.

We stood at the door and chatted a little bit.

“So how’s your mom?”

“She’s doing good.”

“She home?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

Speak of the devil. The stairs’ creakiness betrayed my sister coming to check the door. Their house was a split-level in the suburbs. Pricing was a bit cheaper for a dwelling out here.

“Oh shit, Grant, you’re here!” My sister came down the stairs looking slightly disheveled.

I smiled and gave a half-wave, half-shrug. “You know, had some spare time. Figured I’d drop by and see how life was going.”

“It’s going good.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Fine.”

“She’s up there with Jake.”

My sister stomped her foot and glared at Beth. “Young lady!”

“That’s fine. At least one of the Legates is getting some.” I smirked.

“Grant!” There was a slight blush to her cheeks while my sister tried to be a proper mother. Too bad my niece was a teen and probably knew as much about the whole process as her mother did. The Internet hadn’t exactly hidden information despite numerous attempts by Congress.

“So Jake's doing fine then?” I grinned at my sister. She was a few minutes older than I, and we’d never moved past the teenage nagging stage.

“He’s doing great.”

“I really dropped by to ask Beth some things about her ARC. So I’ll let you get back to Jake and keep things”—I tried not grin too hard—“fine.”

“Oh—” My sister looked like she wanted to tear something from the wall and throw it at me. “Next time, call ahead!” She ran back up the stairs.

“Tell Jake I said hi!” I shouted after her.

“Go to hell, Grant!”

I chuckled. She often had the same sort of commentary for me back in high school. Mostly when she was sneaking boyfriends over and our parents were out for the night. Turnabout was expected from a family member. Beth and I paused our conversation while my sister finished her trek back to her upstairs room and slammed the door.

“She wouldn’t have answered the phone anyway,” my niece said with an exaggerated whisper. She stepped back and let us into the house.

“It’s okay. Your mom's allowed to have boyfriends.”

“I know. But maybe not Jake.”

I laughed at her response. “He’s doing fine.” Harassing family was a tradition. Honestly, I had no clue who Jake was or why he might not be suitable for my sister.

“Ugh.”

“What about you? Any young men I should meet? Or ones I have to scare off with a shotgun?”

“That’s a little archaic. My social studies teacher would say you’re a backward thinking man.” Beth shook her head with a smile.

“Sorry, channeling your grandfather for a moment.”

My niece laughed happily. “He said the same thing actually.”

“The backward-thinking part?”

“No, the shotgun.” Beth tilted her head. “Do you really have a shotgun?”

“Not telling.” I smiled down at her. Then frowned, and went through other faces to try and distract my niece. It used to work years ago.

“I’m not a baby anymore.”

“You’re still smiling though,” I said.

“Did you really come by to visit me?” She almost sounded timid. Beth wasn’t that sort. She took after her mother—attitude a mile long and a fist trailing behind that.

“Yep”

“Because of the ARC?” She tilted her head.

“Yep!”

“But you paid for mine, and you know more about them than I do. Isn’t that your job?”

The company discount had helped me afford a personal ARC for Beth. I also helped my father by chipping in on her college fund. The deal was that grades came first. Beth was taking advantage of the ARC’s time dilation to study.

“I don’t actually use mine for much besides a few programs,” I admitted.

“Why not? There’s so much you can do with them.”

“I just—” Haven’t felt the need or desire? Haven’t felt right playing games in general? Felt like I was tainting a promise made years ago? “I recently won something from work. And it got me thinking.”

“What did you win?” she asked.

“I’m not sure yet—it’s on my home ARC—but I think it’s a copy of Continue Online.” My eyebrows lifted, and I gave a partial shrug.

“Oh my god, Uncle, really? Are you finally going to play?” Beth was nearly hopping around the room.

“If that’s what the prize is, sure. You know I’d never buy it for myself.”

“Mom said the same thing. We were going to get you a copy for Christmas this year.” Christmas wasn’t too far away. It would have been a perfect present.

“Is it really that good?” I asked.

My niece flubbed over her words for a moment before righting herself. “Yes.” She managed to get a single word out before laughter overtook her. “You’ve never seen it in person?”

“No. Only the online ads and a few reviews.” All my knowledge of the game came from working on people’s ARCs and the few videos I had watched in the van.

“Do you have one of those Second Player helms?”

“I do, I think. Hal normally makes sure we have at least one,” I said.

“Get it, and meet me downstairs.”

“If you say so, munchkin.”

My niece was so excited that the nickname went by unremarked. I went out to the van and slid open the back. Hal Pal was on standby, but I could see the light signaling mild awareness.

“Hal, be a Pal and check out one VRH Two for temporary personal use.” I felt clever for using the old commercial jingle from when Hal Pals were first released.

Hal Pal blinked, then reached out one arm to undo the security locks on our panel of parts and plug-ins. Out came a full helmet that used to only be found on motorcycle riders. A burnished red line ran vertically as mild decoration.

“Yes, User Legate. Please remember to file a feedback form upon return.” Hal Pal carefully handed over the device.

Trillium and the ARC project both demanded feedback forms when employees used new equipment. I took the VRH Two and braced myself for the deceptive weight. The thing was heavy as a bowling ball, but once on and logged in, it would be strangely comfortable. The other reviewers stated they experienced no neck pain.

I had only used it once, and that was a job to fix someone’s program. It was also one of the most awkward things my job had ever subjected me to. The client's program hadn’t worked right, but only in a specific spot with a specific, ugh, movement. Turned out the program hadn’t been intended to bend that way. Part of me was convinced the guy got off on getting me to ride along.

I tried not to shudder at the memory and trudged inside. My footsteps would drown out any other noises in the house. Soundproofing had become nearly standard for most modern houses. This one was from the late eighties and had probably missed some of the neater materials on the market.

Beth was already sitting on the edge of her ARC. Her feet almost didn't touch the floor.“It’s okay, Uncle Grant. You can’t hear anything from here.”

“I’m sure that’s why she gave you the far bedroom.”

“Only a few more years and I’ll be done with college, then I can move out.” Beth shrugged and tried to sound positive.

I remembered moving out. It involved a lot of drinking and roommates who were questionable on a good day. Good times.

“So how are we doing this?” I rolled the Second Player helm around and tried to remember how it was used. There—a plug to go into one of the ARC's ports. From there we would have a wireless connection.

“I’ll dive into the game. You can watch as a secondary,” she said.

My brow crinkled in confusion. “I thought they were trying to be secretive about this stuff.”

“On some things, the game's super tight-lipped, but even Trillium can’t stop word-of-mouth and someone watching it directly. I mean, they could…” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “I guess they don’t care that much?”

“Well, lucky me. I can see it and debate if I’m ever going to actually play.” I tried not to commit too much.

“You better play, Uncle Grant!”

“All right, all right. I don’t even know if that’s what I won from work. Let’s see it.”

Beth smiled and lay down in the ARC. She had wristbands on each arm and one around each ankle. The key one was a band that went along the top part of her spine. It was kept close to the spinal column and could read nearly every signal that went down.

I pointed at her ankles. “You’re using those?”

“The wrist and feet?” She raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yeah.” I hadn’t played a game that required them. “I’ve seen them for those exercise programs.”

“Part of the program. Gives you some feedback. If you do something that exerts a lot in the game, you’ll feel it in real life.” Beth smiled.

“Why on earth would you want that?” Bodily exercise while playing a game sounded painful.

“Uncle Grant, I’m not this fit because I go to a gym all day.”

I thought about it while Beth lay back and dialed in her machine. VRH Two, also known as a Second Player helm, plugged right into the middle panel on the ARC device. Slumping against Beth’s ARC would be slightly more comfortable than sitting on the floor. I slipped the Second Player helm over my head and tried not to think about the pudge that had built around my stomach. Maybe if I had invested in a better dance program this waistline would have lost a few inches.

That actually sounded kind of attractive. Play a game, dance a little, work out in the process. I would need to dial back my real-life activities. Working a job like mine for so many hours would be rough if I was sore the entire day. Only Hal Pal’s constant heavy lifting would make this diabolical plot work.

The Second Player helm wasn’t as good as full immersion. Smells and taste were hard to replicate with only the headset technology, so most of what I’d get was visual with a ghost of tactile sensation. There was a reason the Alternate Reality Capsule required five hundred pounds of hardware. Comfort was only about twenty percent.

“Log me in” Beth apparently preferred the vocal command over the physical interface I used.

My visor went black, and moments later, Beth’s Atrium came into view. Everything she saw, I saw. It wasn’t like being myself in a game. This was me piggybacking on another person’s feed while still having my own mind.

“Load Continue Character, delayed intro five,” she said.

“Commands loaded,” the ARC program responded.

I was thrown off by the voice her ARC used. The deep tones reminded me of someone from my childhood who used to do movies. The name was hard to place.

I wasn’t too surprised when Beth's eyes flicked over to a wall of posters with men on them or when she paused and looked in the mirror. Her character didn’t look much different from her. The ears were slightly pointy, belying an elf or something similarly fantastic.

“Huh,” I said.

“Everything coming through okay, Uncle Grant?”

“Yeah. Are you an elf?”

“No, demon—half-demon, I think, technically. I was transformed from human to this after a long chain quest and reputation grinding.” Her answer was longer than expected.

“Weird,” I said. A half-demon race of some sort might explain the very faint sunburn that lined her character’s skin. Beth, as a child, had been the outdoorsy type. Though when I saw her at the door a few minutes ago it was pretty clear her tan had lapsed a lot.

“What do you think?” She waved her arms and did a few basic stretches.

I was stuck staring at the mirror, watching her. Staring at my niece for so long was really awkward. She scanned up and down the clothes. The top was fairly loose and flowing. The pants were almost cutoffs. I could see leather pads over her knees, shoulders, and elbows. Nothing here restricted her range of motion.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said as she started another round of awkward warm ups while staring at herself.

“Oh shit. Sorry.” Beth laughed. “Habit. Stretching helps me move easier once in the game.”

“All right. I get that.” Like a baseball player doing practice swings to loosen their shoulders.

“So Second Player will pick up nearly everything in-game. I tend to play in a partial immersion mode, so most of the extra stuff, like Guild chat and whispers is minimal,” she explained as one arm waved. Beth was flicking through screens and pressing options that said Off and On, though I didn't have enough time to read them all.

“There are guilds? And you can chat with them from anywhere?”

“Sure,” she said.

“That seems to counter this realism claim.”

“You can play with everything off if you want, and guess at your stats and health. There are all sorts of features. Pain levels, skill assists, even uhhh…” My niece's voice drifted off.

“What’s uhh…?” I joked.

“Let’s just say some of the features are very real, and more than slightly adult.”

“Say no more. Uncle Grant can do without you explaining how real interpersonal actions can get.” Never did I want to deal with that sort of issue. I remembered when my sister called me up and nearly broke down trying to handle my niece’s questions. Skinned knees and school projects were child’s play compared to the sex talk.

“Some guys are, uhh…”

“Beth.” I really didn't want to hear her go on about this particular subject.

“Sorry.”

“Even if I wanted to do that sort of thing,”—and I hadn’t tried more than once since my fiancée—“I wouldn’t look for it in a game. So that aspect doesn’t interest me.”

“All right. I only mention it because some players dress really provocatively.”

“Why, Beth, I’m proud that you know such a complex word,” I said.

She laughed, and I smiled. We were back on comfortable ground. It made sense why she would try to warn me though. If everything was as realistic as her character in the mirror, then that aspect would certainly get a lot of attention, and not only among teenage males. I tried to keep my sigh quiet.

“I’ll head in. I think I left myself on autopilot in the city.”

“Auto what?”

Beth had wandered over to the Continue Online game. She picked up the book-sized representation from its shelf and tossed it at a wall, which activated the software. What had once been a smooth piece of digital plaster was now a doorway. That was actually a lot more interesting than how I loaded my simple dance program.

“Autopilot. It’s a log-off feature. It allows your character to keep interacting with Arcadia while you’re out.”

“Why would that matter?” I asked.

“You get little bonuses and reputation points. Plus for people who have school, like me, or work, like you, we can’t be online all day every day. Though some people are crazy about it. You get more points personally than autopilot will give you.” She said all that as if talking to herself while in a virtual world. Sometimes the ARC device made things seem really odd.

“That’s new,” I said.

“Yep!” She put one hand on the doorway and pressed heavily into the wall. “Display in-game.”

The side of the wall lit up and showed her character sitting on a park bench. It wore the same clothes Beth had on now and was weaving a series of strings together.

“Huh?” I didn’t know what to expect, but seeing a virtual version of Beth sitting calmly would never have made the list.

“The computer AI will try to get your avatar to a neutral point once you’re logged into the Atrium. That way there’s not any confusion,” my niece answered.

That didn’t clear up my confusion. I made a few noises and kept watching. This was a wealth of information that wasn’t on any website I had seen. Experiencing it first hand, Second Headset, was useful. Even if I didn’t get a copy of Continue Online from work, I might pick up a copy later.

“Ready?”

“Sure. This stuff is useful, but I haven’t seen the actual game,” I said.

“Right.”

She leapt through the doorway and the ground fell away. Below, a globe similar to Earth rapidly approached.

“Whoa. Whoa. Whoooooooooooaaaa.” I did not like the free fall feeling. My heart rate sped up. My hands clenched in panic, and I tried to reassure myself that the bedroom floor was still present.

“Gets you racing, doesn’t it?” Beth yelled against the wind, miles up as the ground grew closer and closer.

“Don’t panic!” Images of impending doom drove cross my brain. Choices range from burning up in the atmosphere, landing and becoming a pile of mush, or a belly flop to end all belly flops.

We got closer. Beth was looking around for me, adjusting the in game vision. She looked over to the ocean. “Look at that! You see it?” The wind whipped by and ruffled her clothes. “I keep telling my friends there’s something in the water out there! It’s huge!”

Her vision showed a giant ocean between continents. For a moment, it looked as if giant waves surged out of nowhere. A portion of water was darker than the others and almost seemed to crawl.

“That’s…”

“It’s awesome! I’ll get the skills to go out there before the end of college!” she shouted with a confidence only teenagers could feel.

I was going to say frightening.

“Look up there!” Beth flipped around while falling.

I was busy watching the approaching ground out of the helmet's peripheral vision. She seemed oblivious to my fears of falling from such a height.

“Is that…?” I honed in on the giant object floating above us.

“A moon? Yep! Like the colonies! I bet we can explore it too! There’s an entire guild dedicated to reaching it!”

That was admittedly neater than a giant whatever-that-was in the ocean.

“Does it always take this long to get into the game?” I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I felt carpet beneath my fingers and a dresser in the way of my feet. Visually, everything felt insane with Beth's dive from the heavens.

“Nope! We’re doing a longer log-in for you!”

The air changed. Sounds were different. Beth stayed lying backward. I actually liked looking at the moon—it was far more calming than an approaching planet.

“Can you do this every time?” A moon without buildings on it seemed almost innocent. It reminded me of childhood. I had taken the natural moon for granted.

“Yep! Well, I can. It's from a trait!” Her shouts were muffled by the wind.

I might be sold already.

“Landddinnnggg!” The drop felt like hitting the softest, fluffiest bed ever known. Beth’s blinking created pauses in our visual connection. I blinked a few times myself and took steadying breaths.

“Huh. Rope,” she said.

Multiple messages popped into view and Beth looked at them one by one. They were status updates on her time in autopilot.

Losses

Resource: 7 Gold, 8 Silver, 54 Copper

“What the?” I said. These messages looked very out of place, floating like modern holograms in a fantasy world. I knew it was fantasy because of the commercial and few videos online. If that wasn’t a clue, the tip of a sword on Beth’s waist or people walking around old houses on cobblestone roads might be a clue.

Gains

Item: 20' Rope – Spider Silk (Common)

Item(s): Multiple low-level herbs

Item(s): Two meal vouchers

Fan base has increased (Now: 42)

+40 [Fame] (Partial credit due to autopilot)

“Sorry, they’re basic-looking compared to everything else. I can’t keep the game world separate without something obvious,” my niece said.

I nodded. The rest of the world was so visually stunning that these notification windows felt out of place. Almost like laughing in the face of realism.

Away Time

2 Days, 14 Hours, 34 Minutes

“There’re other interface methods. One of my friends from high school has all of his pop up on a scroll he carries around. He’s super into the realism aspect and pretends he can only look at his stats once a week.” Beth was chewing her lip. It was the same action my sister and I performed when thinking.

“That’s…”

“Neat? You always say neat,” she responded.

“If you say so, munchkin.” My tone sounded resigned. I did say neat a lot.

“Uncle Grant…”

“What else is there? Are those event notices? Like you did something while offline?” I asked.

“Yeah. The autopilot records what kind of player you are and acts accordingly. Here’s a funny one.” Beth swung our combined vision over to one of the notices floating nearby.

Event!

Musical Mess

During your music recital, things didn't go as planned. When it came time for the solo there were no less than three mistakes. As a result, you went on an eating binge and grew even more depressed while poking at your belly and frowning. Furthermore, someone at the main square recognized you as the girl 'whose voice cracked' during your big solo. (See [Fame] gains)

You've spent the last two hours putting your handcraft and sewing skills to good use by making a rope to hang yourself with.

“Beth.” I tried not to sound too worried by what had been displayed. Funny wasn’t the right word to describe those words.

“Son of a bitch!” she swore as if remembering something.

“Should we talk about that event notice?”

“What? No, I missed the choir recital. It’s not that serious. I could have gained a lot of points toward my singing abilities though.”

There had been a skills window and another one with points going toward various character statistics. I barely saw an [Endurance] bonus go up little before she shoved it away.

“And this thing said you tried to hang yourself. Doesn’t autopilot act like you play?” I tried to skirt the issue but still get an answer.

“My character did that, not me! I was away.” Her vision went downward as the rope—I guessed the twenty feet of spider silk—went into a backpack she had swung off from behind her. “If it’d been me for real, I would have aced that event.”

“So you don’t play like a depressed, emotionally unstable teenager? That was all the autopilot?” Just how dense was Uncle Grant in her world?

“Yeah. It kind of reads into things…” A few other boxes appeared on her screen, and she flicked them off into oblivion. “Let’s see…”

“Can you walk around?” I didn’t really even know how to approach that suicide message. Those situations should be passed to my sister. Maybe it was serious, or maybe it was her being a bit crazy in-game.

“Sure. Oh, I know! I’ll show you the starter area. It should be fairly empty.”

“I thought they were always full,” I said.

“Maybe in other games. Continue only lets you have one character. But it’s cool because you can learn whatever skills you want to,” Beth responded happily.

“Like that singing one?” The two in the message—handcraft and sewing—were other probable professions. Each one likely went with the type of action being performed. At least the naming methodology for skills was straight forward.

“Yep!” Beth said while running down a seemingly random path.

She dodged through tons of people talking casually. Others were looking at shelves of items in stalls. Some were lying down and chatting away. My face felt cool. A gust of wind pelted against one side, then the other as we shifted around objects in our path.

“How do you know where you’re going?” I asked.

“Memory!”

We kept right on cruising through the town. There was a slight jarring sensation as she pounded across the cobblestone.

“No map? Or some sort of navigation?” I felt confused. At least my voice wasn't interrupted by the rush of movement.

“Nothing I own. They’re all player-made,” Beth responded.

“That’s weird.”

In the games of my youth, everything had a map. Except a few professed hardcore ones that were more puzzlers than anything else. For those games, players did some exploration. Most of it was figuring out which area was safe and slowly building up to the harder zones. Maybe this was the same. There had been a few games whose entire purpose seemed to be trapping and killing the player. Getting through to the other side was a test of sanity.

Truth be told, everything looked real enough to blow me away. The touch feedback wasn’t quite there thanks to the Second Player helm, but Continue Online's visuals were amazing. Especially considering Beth wasn’t moving slowly; she darted around with an incredible speed.

“What class moves like this?” I asked.

“There are no classes, Uncle. You play however you want. Skills are unlocked based on what you demonstrate and focus on. Instead, you’re ranked along a Path that is based on your skills.” Beth did a spin around two people that made me feel dizzy for a moment. My dance program taught me fancy moves but they didn’t involve real people moving along unpredictable paths.

“Paths?”

“I’ll probably have to cut short some of the explanations. There’s a safety when doing Second Player mode that will penalize me.”

“So the machine's listening to you talk to me?” I said.

“Yep. So you can ask me outside of the game, but I’ll probably be in here a while once I’ve shown you some stuff.” Beth sounded amused, but I couldn’t see her expression with a Second Player helm. The equipment put me in a first-person view.

“On a school night?” It was Tuesday. Tuesdays still were school nights, right? I didn’t really pay attention to what classes Beth was taking.

“Time runs fast inside. There’s a compression rate of four-to-one. One minute out there is four in here. I load up my homework while traveling.” She managed to talk almost naturally while running full-bore.

I could feel the hint of effort being put into her movements. Legs touching down, each stride almost a leap. Gazelles would lunge the same way from location to location. Finally, barely short of breath, she came upon a nearly empty square.

“That’s far too convenient,” I said.

Being able to do homework in here was unfair. Even my dance program didn’t compress things to such an insane level. What happened after a year of this—or three or four? Mentally, a person would have lived a decade, and real life would have only passed two years and change. Such a concept was absolutely beyond belief. Of course, so were printed cars that drove themselves.

“Welcome to the future, Uncle Grant.”

I heard the noise before the visual input really registered. Beth was looking, so I was looking, but the moment took a minute to click.

Once it did, my jaw dropped. We were on a pavilion nearly midway up a roaring half-circle waterfall. The top of the waterfall was so high up that it covered the dais with mist. Water kept right on rushing down toward a destination I couldn’t make out.

“Whoa.”

“Like it?” She walked closer to the edge and looked up and down.

“I love it.” This was different, yet as breathtaking as the moon shots. There was an awe-inspiring serenity to her surroundings. Noise from the flow drowned out nearly everything else, forcing my attention to one spot.

“All the starting areas I’ve been to are incredible.”

“Where does that cliff go?” I questioned.

“Down a lonnnnnnng way. The bottom is a higher-level zone. There’s a dungeon down there I’m going to challenge with a friend. The top is a bit closer to intro ranks.” Beth laughed and waved at some of the other people sitting around.

“How did you find that out?”

“Oh, first thing I did when I logged on was jump off that cliff at least a dozen times!” She was leaning over the edge and yelling to be heard. Thankfully her sound was all locked within the ARC or my sister would probably have been breaking down the door.

“Like the free-fall entrance?”

“Best rush ever!” Beth answered.

“There were no penalties?”

“Nah. There’s nothing like that until you’ve got your first rank. After that, things can get harsh.” She backed away from the edge and sat on a bench.

The environment was much quieter farther away from the waterfall. People were passing through, going about what seemed like routine tasks. One woman held buckets of food. Another woman was trying to convince some squat mule with extra horns to drag a cart. The thing’s abnormally rounded ears kept twitching toward the water.

“If I died now, I’d have to deal with all sorts of stuff,” Beth said. “My path ranks are all over the board.”

“That’s… harsh?”

“Different people play the game different ways. Some people I know rushed their combat skills. Others couldn’t handle the monsters, so they stuck with trade skills. Everyone finds a pace they like.”

“This is nice though.”

“You can watch it for a while if you want. I’ll leave the feed on for you while I take care of some homework,” Beth offered.

I grunted a positive reply after realizing Beth couldn’t see me nod. For a long time, I stared at the waterfall, admiring the mist. To my side was enough clear space for couples to dance. Music would have been perfect. Tears slowly invaded my vision, though not from Beth’s feedback. My fiancée would have loved it here. She had been the adventurous one, and this world would have been perfect.